


between the lines of fear and blame

by meghan2201



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Defiance, Failed escape, Fic, Forced Mutism, Gen, Graphic Depiction of Death by Stabbing, Held at Gunpoint (knife-point), I did Not see that coming, My way or the highway, OC, Please..., Power Outage, Where Do You Think You're Going, Whump, Whumptober 2020, a terrible horrible no good very bad day, alt. Found Family, alt. Nightmares, blurred vision, caged, no.16, no.17, no.3, no.30, no.4, no.5, no.6, running out of time, wrongfully accused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meghan2201/pseuds/meghan2201
Summary: "I'm going to kill you for what you did to my sister!"~This short story was originally written for a class assignment, but it's whump-y enough to pass as a work for Whumptober. Technically, it's still a draft, but the other stories I wrote for Whumptober weren't revised or edited, either.~Whumptober no. 3: My Way or the Highway; Prompt: Held at Gunpoint (knife-point, in this case)Fandom: none
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	between the lines of fear and blame

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Day 3. It's late, by, like, a month, but it's here. The English assignment for this story was to write a suspenseful story, and this was mine.
> 
> themes:  
> ~My Way or the Highway  
> ~Running Out of Time  
> ~Where Do You Think You're Going?  
> ~Please...  
> ~A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day  
> ~I Did Not See That Coming  
> ~Now Where Did That Come From?
> 
> prompts:  
> ~Held at Gunpoint (knife-point)  
> ~Caged  
> ~Failed Escape  
> ~Blood Loss  
> ~Defiance  
> ~Wrongfully Accused  
> ~Forced Mutism  
> ~Blurred Vision  
> ~Power Outage  
> ~alt. Found Family  
> ~alt. Nightmares

_It was all dark. I couldn’t see a thing. My lungs were burning, and my muscles weren’t doing any better. Tears were falling out of my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. I’d run into at least five branches from five different trees, and I could feel blood seeping out of the cuts on my face._

_I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t fall behind. I couldn’t trip, I couldn’t falter. If I slowed down, got any slower than the speed I was running at, he’d catch me. And he wasn’t too far behind._

_I could hear him advancing on me. I tried to run faster, but there’s only so much a nonathletic, clumsy teenager could do to avoid an infuriated, football-playing teenager with a vengeance. Especially if that nonathletic, clumsy teenager happened to be running through a forest that she wasn’t familiar with. At all. Oh, look: the nonathletic, clumsy teenager that got herself into a huge mess was me. What a surprise._

_And then the forest wasn’t a forest any longer. It was a clearing. No, it was a cliff. A dead end. And I was currently falling off of that cliff. Thankfully, there was a fairly large body of water under the cliff that I conveniently landed in. I had successfully survived jumping off of a cliff. The only other problem was that I didn’t know how to swim._

_I opened my mouth, searching for air, and I could feel the water invading my aching lungs as I struggled to fight my way back up to the surface. I pulled myself up eventually, gasping and sputtering while coughing out the water in my lungs._

_I turned to look at the cliff I had jumped off of. Logan came to a stop at the edge of the rock, scanning the water. I risked a glance at the shore. The gravel beach to my right was too far away for me to attempt to swim toward without drawing attention to myself, not to mention almost drowning. So instead I opted for moving as little as possible in the freezing water and hoping he couldn’t see me._

_Luckily for me, it was too dark for Logan to see anything, and my dark hair blended in with the dark water. He gave up after scanning the water two more times, but before he turned and stormed back into the trees, he called out to me in a dark, threatening voice that made chills run down my spine._

_“I’m going to kill you for what you did to my little sister!”_

I bolted upright with a gasp. My hand found its way to my chest, rising and falling at uneven paces, and I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

 _Still alive_ , I thought, blinking away tears. _You’re okay_.

It was just over a week ago that I was running through a forest being chased by a girl’s protective older brother, but I remembered it so vividly. Every night since then, I had relived the same experience over and over, each time startling myself awake in my sweat-soaked bed. I could still hear his voice, cutting loud and clear through the windy night, shouting a threat so gravely, I was beginning to think maybe he meant it.

_“I’m going to kill you for what you did to my little sister!”_

I shivered, though I was anything but cold. I pushed the covers off my body and laid back against the pillows, trying to calm my breathing. As I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, I could only think one thing.

_What did I do to his little sister?_

I slept dreamlessly for two hours more after my nightmare, but when I woke up, the question was still etched into my mind. I couldn’t remember doing anything to Lexi Ackerman. I didn’t even know the girl! The last time I interacted with her was when I partnered up with her for a science project in the sixth grade, and I doubted she would remember it, much less Logan; that was four years ago, and the project wasn’t anything special.

So why did Logan blame me for something that happened to a girl I didn’t even know?

I shook my head, clearing it. It was Friday, and I had to go to school.

I tried to keep myself busy during school, but I caught myself wondering if I should confront Lexi or Logan. _No_ , I told myself, _that would only make it worse_.

I managed to keep my mind mostly on school for the rest of the day, but there was nothing to keep my mind on when I returned home to my empty house, and my thoughts began to wander.

My father left before I was born, as my mother told me, and my mother was always distant. It was almost like she was always hiding something, but I knew that was unrealistic. She was always working, which must’ve been why she was so remote. I didn’t mind much -- I liked being alone -- but sometimes I wished I knew my mother a little better.

The Ackermans probably knew their parents well. As far as I knew, Logan and Lexi’s parents were still married, living a happy life together with their two excelling kids. And they were probably spoiled, too. Logan thought he could just accuse anyone of doing anything and make death threats without consequences, but he was wrong. I would not let him kill me, and I would prove to him that I didn’t do anything wrong.

But as I was planning my detailed, step-by-step process on how to prove my innocence, the lights shut off, breaking my train of thought. Where I lived, it got dark fairly early, so I was relying solely on the lights on the ceiling for brightness, but with the lights off, I couldn’t see anything.

“Power must’ve gone out,” I noted aloud. Normally, when the power goes out, it didn’t take too long to come back, but it was cold, and the heater had stopped working during the outage, so I was shivering and I couldn’t see.

I paced my room to try and warm-up, my arms folded tightly across my chest, but I was having trouble avoiding all the obstacles laid haphazardly across the floor that I never got around to picking up.

“And this, people, is why you clean your room,” I muttered to myself, and then I stepped on another shirt. I wasn’t getting any warmer. I was about to sit down again when I heard a knock on the door. I thought I was just hearing things, because why would someone be at my door, but when I heard another knock, louder the second time, I knew it was real.

I maneuvered my way to the door and looked through the peephole, but I couldn’t see anything. I flicked the light switch on to try to see who was on the other side before remembering that the power was out and trying to turn on the lights was pointless.

I didn’t want to open the door if I didn’t know who was outside because, contrary to popular belief, I was not stupid, but the person on the other side must’ve gotten impatient and started banging on the door rapidly.

“Alright, alright,” I said, frustrated, as I unlocked and opened the door. “What?” I said impatiently. The person, who I assumed was a man, was taller than me, and he was wearing a varsity jacket over a grey hoodie. When I readjusted my gaze to look at his face, I gasped as the man’s cold blue eyes met my dark brown ones.

“L- Logan,” I breathed out. The man, the myth, the legend. “Wh- uh, what are you doing here? It’s late, isn’t…” I faltered when I caught his harsh glare.

“I warned you,” he said in a low voice. “I told you what would happen. And now… now, I’m going to kill you.”

I chuckled nervously. “Uh, there’s been a, um, misunderstanding. Why don’t you… come… in…” I weakly stepped aside and opened the door a little wider, and Logan trudged in, keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time.

“Look, I just want to make sure you know that I didn’t do anything to Lexi,” I said as I shut the door.

“Lexi?” he roared. “This isn’t about her! This is about what you did to Liz.”

I shrunk back, and before I could stop myself from saying it, I blurted out, “Who the heck is Liz?” I slapped my hand over my mouth right after it came out, but the damage was already done.

“My sister. The one you killed.” His face held no emotion as he drew out a silver knife that gleamed in the dim light.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey!” I stuttered quickly, throwing my hands into the air in surrender. “I- heh, there’s, ah, there’s gotta be a mistake! I didn’t kill anyone, I promise!”

“Then explain to me,” he said as he tightened his grip around the handle of the knife, “why my little sister is dead, and why I saw you kill her.”

“I- what? No, listen, I didn’t even know your sister existed!” I protested, which was admittedly the wrong thing to say. I cringed in fear when I heard the low growl at the back of his throat. “You must’ve, I don’t know, saw it wrong or something! Because I swear, I have never killed anyone in my life. Really!”

All he did was step forward. If looks could kill, I would’ve already been dead, but that wouldn’t’ve made much of a difference now, would it?

“Please,” I whispered pleadingly, but if he could hear it, he didn’t react. He stepped closer and closer, and I retreated farther and farther back until I hit the wall, and I had no place else to go. He was slow, menacingly slow, and I knew I was trapped. Tears began to slide silently down my face, retracing tracks that had formed over the past week. “Please,” I begged again, this time silently.

“This is what you get. What you deserve. If anything, I’m doing you a kindness, putting you out of your miserable life,” he spat.

And he lunged forward, knife in hand, aiming for my neck.

I dodged. His knife had caught a few strands of my hair, pinning them to the wall, but I couldn’t care less as I dashed to the side, effectively ripping out those strands of hair, and ran to my room, locking it.

“Calliope, I know you’re in there!” he shouted aggressively. I winced as he said my name so harshly. He jiggled the doorknob, and he yelled angrily when he realized it was locked. I thought he would call out to me again, telling me to open the door, or maybe, and it was a stretch, but maybe he would leave. But he didn’t say another word. And I relaxed for a second, thinking I was saved, but I jumped when I heard him slam into the door. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And then another time, and another.

And with the next, he came barreling through the door with his quarterback muscles that I really should’ve accounted for. And he did not look happy. He had pried his knife out of the wall, and his fist clenched around the handle so tightly, his knuckles had paled.

I shrieked, and in my panic, I threw whatever was closest to me at him, which happened to be an old sweatshirt. And then I regretted it the moment after because all he got was even more pissed.

If he wasn’t enraged before, he sure was now. He grabbed onto the sweatshirt and threw it angrily at the floor.

“What. The. F-” he began, but I cut him off by throwing the next thing, an empty plastic water bottle. He sputtered, most likely shocked at my stupidity, but I just took it as a chance to continue to chuck all my miscellaneous belongings at the homicidal maniac with a knife.

With my bad aim, I didn’t expect any of the objects to hit him -- I was trying to stall him, keep him distracted while I came up with a probably stupid escape plan -- but he was dodging all my blows, and somehow, as he sidestepped, my school binder from last year filled with all the extensive paperwork my teachers handed out nailed him straight in the middle of the forehead.

He fell onto the pile of clothes on my floor, probably knocked out. I approached him slowly, sticking two fingers of my right hand out, and knelt beside him, trying to find a pulse on his left wrist, the closest one to me.

I guess I should’ve expected it when he opened his eyes.

His right hand, still holding the knife, swung toward me so quickly, I didn’t have time to move, and the sharp blade of his knife embedded itself deep into the side of my neck for all of five seconds, before Logan ripped it out roughly, watching as the thick, crimson liquid spilled out of the wound.

I fell heavily to the ground. I gasped, but I got no air. I screamed, but I made no noise.

“Please,” I choked out softly, clutching my neck, but the rippling current of blood flowing out of my carotid was too strong for me to stop.

Everything was blurry and spinning, and I could hardly make out the abstract shape of a boy standing over me. My eyes searched the hazy field of vision wildly, trying to focus, before my heavy eyelids closed over them and I felt my grip become weaker.

_Please._

* * *

Logan watched Calliope stumble and fall onto the ground. He watched her claw at her neck and plead for him to save her. And he stood helplessly above her, apathetic to the dying girl in front of him. After all, she did kill his sister. She deserved it.

“Wow,” a voice called from behind Logan. He whipped around and saw a woman in the doorway. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Who- I- wh- who are you?” he stuttered. The ceiling light in Calliope’s room lit up, exposing all of Calliope’s possessions she had thrown at Logan. The girl’s limp body lay in the center of the room, the still wet blood seeping into the carpet.

“My name’s Pandora,” the woman said, “and I’ve been wanting to get rid of Calliope for years.”

She stepped into the light, and Logan gasped.

The woman, Pandora, was wearing studded black biker boots that went up past her ankles. Her skinny jeans were black and ripped at various places along her thighs, knees, and shins. The white shirt she had on was tight, and the front of her shirt was tucked into her jeans loosely. Over her shirt was an unzipped motorcycle jacket made of black leather. Her right hand was tucked into the front pocket of her jeans, and her left brushed a strand of her long, wavy, dark brown hair behind her ear, and her face was the exact same as Calliope’s.

“Y-You’re- What?” Logan stammered. “How…”

“It’s a long story.” She brushed Logan’s implicit question off nonchalantly, checking her black acrylic nails.

“I’ve got a whole lot of time,” Logan replied in the same cool tone, seemingly pulling himself together.

“Don’t you have a funeral to get ready for? For… What was her name, Alyssa? Eliana? Oh, that’s right -- it was Elizabeth.”

Logan clenched his fists. “It was you,” he growled. “It wasn’t Callie who killed Liz, it was you!” He drew his knife again, not caring that it was still dripping with blood, and lunged at Pandora, but she sidestepped his attack and used his momentum to push him against the wall. Her left hand bent Logan’s wrist into an awkward position until he dropped his knife, and she swiftly caught the weapon as it fell, keeping her right arm pressed forcibly against the back of Logan’s neck the whole time. She brought the knife up under his chin and pressed slightly -- not enough to cut his skin, but enough to make him feel the pressure of the bloodied knife against his trembling chin.

“Yeah, and what’re you gonna do about it?” Logan’s eyes widened as he stared at the knife used so expertly in Pandora’s grasp. “I killed your sister, and I have no regrets about making you kill mine. She was always the lucky twin, the one who didn’t have to grow up with the alcoholic flake of a father, and she took it for granted. Didn’t even know what she was missing out on. Well, karma’s a real pain, isn’t it?” she hissed bitterly into Logan’s ear.

“So, what, you killed her? No, you made me kill her because you were too much of a coward to kill her yourself,” Logan retaliated. He barked out a sharp laugh, void of any emotion other than annoyance. Pandora tensed beside him, pressing the knife further into his skin. Logan was well aware of the stainless steel up against the artery in his neck, but he continued to provoke the girl anyway. “Coward,” he snarled again.

Pandora’s face scrunched up. “I am not a cowa-” Logan knocked his head back, successfully hitting Pandora in the forehead and avoiding the blade of the knife in her hand. Pandora stumbled back, raising her right hand to touch her bruised forehead, and Logan took her distraction as an opportunity to tackle her to the ground, wrestling the weapon out of her grip.

Pandora let out a guttural cry in anguish and determination through her clenched teeth as she fought back against Logan, hitting the back of her head against the wall in the process. The two struggled for dominance, pushing each other into the ground and grappling for the single knife. It was a blur -- one second, Logan was punching Pandora repeatedly in the jaw, and the next, Pandora had her hands wrapped tightly around Logan’s neck.

Logan and Pandora battled viciously for what seemed like hours, matching each other’s strengths and weaknesses to make for a fair match. They let out grunts and screams, glaring at each other with the intent to kill. Punches, kicks, and whatever other blows they could land were exchanged, and the only thing on the fighters’ minds was victory, fueled by their tenacity.

And then came the knock at the door. It was loud and singular, but the noise resonated throughout the house. Logan froze from his position hovering over Pandora, but Pandora just smirked. She took his hesitation and flipped him, swiftly grabbing the knife and stabbing it into his chest, and then she pulled it out and inserted it into his abdomen.

As she stood up, she tore the blade out of Logan’s body, shrugging before wiping the blood off on his mangled varsity jacket. She flipped the injured boy onto his back as his breathing became more and more labored, and she promptly dug her boot heel into his neck, satisfied as she heard the brilliant snap of his neck.

She dug her pointer and middle fingers into Logan’s neck, feeling his pulse slow until it stopped altogether.

“And then there was one,” she said, a smirk stretched across her face as she admired her new knife. She stood up, and spun around as she heard a gasp behind her.

“Calliope?” the woman who had walked through the door uttered.

“Mom!” Pandora hastily replied, pleasantly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Calliope’s mother peered behind her daughter and spotted the disfigured corpse of Logan Ackerman. She sighed.

“I have much to teach you, Pandora.”


End file.
